


a child of god, much like yourself

by tyrsdayschild



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Backstory, Internalized Functionalism, M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Pre-Series, Teacher-Student Relationship, Worldbuilding, i thought way to hard about what the plug-and-play equivalent of homosexuality would be lmao, technically but it's not really the point tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrsdayschild/pseuds/tyrsdayschild
Summary: Blades enrolls in the Iaconi Medical Academy, to train as an emergency medical technician. A flaky teacher's assistant leaves his Intro to Trinitarian Interventions class to be taught bythePharma, and Blades couldn't be more excited. But Pharma has a secret- one that going to change the way Blades looks at himself forever.





	1. Chapter 1

The manumission ceremony was, as usual, the dullest thing Blades had ever sat through. Seriously, _ever_! And he'd had to sit through mandatory safety meetings on proper drilling technique every metacycle, for over seven _hun_ dred vorns, so he knew dull. He rocked on his heels as he stood in his corner of the stage, looking idly at the sky. He sure hoped those weren't precipitation clouds, acid rain was the _last_ thing they needed today, with the whole base assembled outside for-

"Ouch!" Blades said as Shank kicked his ankle.

"Stop squirming, you glitchmouse," Shank muttered, "It's our turn next, so be respectful of the others."

"I'm plenty respectful," Blades said, cause he _was_ , manumission was a huge deal and he respected everyone on the stage for earning it, but oh my _gosh_ it took forever to get through the ritual for everyone!

"We now recognize the workers of the Excavation and Evacuation Division, and the brave work they do in clearing paths for us all. We commend them for their courage, the first in and the last out," the Commissioner intoned. Blades looked out into the crowd and grinned at the other Double E members cheering and applauding. Whoever came up with this stupid ceremony must've thought they were being _real cute_ in making them the last group to be manumitted, or maybe they just figured heavy machinery was too dumb to care, but Blades didn't care. Just a couple more kliks and he'd be his own mech. He bounced on his heels, ignoring Shank's glare.

"From your ranks we call forth Longbit, and commend his nine hundred and forty four vorns of faithful service. We recognize his debt as clear, and contract fulfilled. What will you do with your freedom, Longbit?"

"I will reenlist with Rescue Corps and continue to serve with my teammates in Double E. I hope one day to make supervisor," Longbit announced, which was fine, totally fine, Longbit was a good mech, but _honestly_ , out of the fifty-odd mech's who'd been manumitted today, Blades could count on one hand those who _hadn't_ chosen to reenlist with their original division.

The Commissioner snapped the datarod containing Longbit's creation commission and debt, and handed him the pieces, along with his new citizenship documents. "By the authority invested in me by the High Commander of the Planetary Rescue Corps, and by Primus and his chosen representative, Nova Prime, I hereby acknowledge Longbit as a free and full citizen of Cybertron." There was polite applause as Longbit stepped off the stage to stand with the other freed workers, and Shank's name was called. It was basically the same as Longbit's ceremony, and honestly, if people would just say different things, the whole ceremony would be a lot less tedious. Still, Blades clapped when Shank left the stage, documents in hand, and had already started towards the Commissioner before his name had even, technically, been called.

"-and we commend his seven hundred and eighty five vorns of faithful service," the Commissioner said. "We recognize his debt as cleared, and contract fulfilled. What will you do with your freedom, Blades?"

"I've been accepted to the Iaconi Medical Academy, and I'm going to train as a medic!" Blades announced proudly, beaming to the crowd. There was a smattering of hesitant applause and a general air of disbelief. Good, thought Blades, pleased. "And _then_ I'll reenlist in the Rescue Corps and all that."

The Commissioner was staring at him as he finished the ceremony, but Blades was so happy he scarcely noticed him. No take backs, he thought, meeting the officer's gaze unafraid as he accepted the remnant of his commission and his new documents. He'd earned his citizenship, fair and square. So what if he was cold-constructed? So what if he was heavy machinery? Sure, there was some stuff he'd never be able to do, but who cared? He could do _this_ , he thought, skipping off the stage to join his compatriots, and _no one could stop him_.

\---

"I still think you're shorting out, just so you know," Shank said for about the millionth time as they waited at the transport station.

"Look, _I_ just applied, the admission department were the ones who accepted me, so clearly they think I have potential," Blades said.

"How did you even find time to study for the entrance exam? Or get the time off to take it?"

"Excellent time management, persistence, and some quality bureaucratic navigation," Blades said. He'd had to request the time off a quartex in advance, and that was just for an orn and a half to travel to Praxus to take the exam at a satellite location. Shank narrowed his optics.

"You're facing one of the admins, aren't you?" he asked. Blades vented haughtily.

"Don't make me sound like such a buyamech, Shank, alright? It's called being _friend_ ly, it's called social engineering- hey, maybe if you tried being nice instead of being such a suspicious and doubtful aft, you could get your leave requests processed in a timely manner too."

"I'm nice enough, you're just too friendly- your friends with, what, half the damn base? You probably just want to go to Iacon to make new friends, you're all out of new faces here," Shank teased.

"You're so stupid," Blades said, grinning a little, "You need to be friendly with Longbit while I'm gone, okay? Without someone to throw your breaker every quartex or so you're gonna get all backed up and explode from unreleased charge or something, and then where will you be?"

"In triage, waiting for my shiny new medic of a batchmate to fix me up all nice," Shank said smiling. The train was pulling up to the station, and Shank held him close, caressing his plating and flaring his field one last time before they parted. Blades reciprocated eagerly, hoping the other people at the stop were smart enough to give them space and not caring if they weren't- he wanted Shank to feel everything he could pour out at that moment.

"I'll be back in a vorn," Blades said. "Try not to trigger a cave in till I get back, okay?"

"Take care of yourself, glitchmouse," Shank said fondly. "Don't let those Iaconi fraggers get you down." The station was filled with a high pitch whine as the train engaged his breaks and came to a stop, and his door's slid open.

"Bye," Blades said, "We'll be co-workers again real soon, okay? I promise. You're my favorite colleague."

"You too," Shank said, "I'll see you in a vorn. We'll always work together in our sparks. Write, or whatever."

"Totally, yeah," Blades said, reluctantly stepping onto the train. He waved at Shank from the doorway. "Bye!" Shank waved back, and the door slid shut, the train rolling a little as the breaks disengaged, and then beginning to move forward. Blades ran over to the side of the car, leaning over some already sitting passengers to keep waving through the window at Shank. The train accelerated, and Blades kept his optics focused on the figure of his friend as it grew smaller, and then they went through a tunnel, and they were off.

\---

Blades apologized to the mechs he was leaning over and wandered down the car to find an open seat. The route from Sigma Base to Iacon was long, and covered most of a hemisphere, so he'd need to get comfy. They came out the other side of the tunnel and began crossing the Great Rust Basin. On the right Blades could see Uraya, and on the left, nearly at the horizon, he could see the glint of light off the Praxian Spire. The train crossed over a bridge spanning one of the many crevasses that webbed through the Basin. The sudden depth was dizzying, and Blades caught a glimpse of a mining operation within it. He focused on the familiar site to calm his circuits.

"Y'know, I'm like ninety percent sure I helped clear a collapse in that mine a couple vorns back," Blades said conversationally as he dropped onto an open seat on the bench. And oh, he _had_ lucked into a good seat. Across from him sat two doorwingers, their wings folded down to fit in the seat but still peeking out adorably at him- _prob_ ably Praxians, given their frames, _prob_ ably forged mid-caste, given their decorative paint jobs, and _totally_ faceable. What could he say? Everyone had a _thing_ and Blades had a thing for back appendages. "I'm Blades of Base Sigma," he introduced himself cheerfully. "Well, technically I was manufactured in Uraya, but I'm coming from Base Sigma. How about you two?"

The mech on his left twitched his doorwings in a nervous tic, and cleared his vocalizer.

"I'm Stepwise of Praxus," he said, and glanced at his companion. "This is Sinoid of Praxus."

"Nice to meet you!" Blades said. "You on your way back home?"

"Um," Stepwise said, and glanced back at Sinoid, who was still silent.

"I'm going to Iacon to study," Blades said to fill the awkward silence. "You don't have to be scared of talking to me, I'm manumitted. Full citizen, same as you!"

"You are _not_ the same as us," Sinoid said coldly, and turned his helm to stare out the window. Blades felt his gears grind in a sudden rush of embarrassed anger.

"I just meant I'm autonomous, that's all," he said sulkily. "Gosh, look at you. I'm sixth-caste, sure, but your what, with those names, informational workers, so fourth-caste? That's not so far off, you know."

Sinoid's sensory panels hiked up, banging against the seat and Stepwise.

" _I_ am a junior cleric in the fifth Manualist temple of Praxus!" he exclaimed.

"Oh wow, I'm _so_ sorry, you're a _thirdy_ who's _so_ important he gets to ride in the economy class and rub joints with us lil' bots. Forgive me, hiereus," Blades said, and pulled a datapad from his subspace, tuning the pad's audio to his internal comms and routing his external audials away from conscious awareness as the other passengers in the car began shifting nervously and muttering in his and the Praxians' general direction. He queued up his stash of music vids and half-watched them, eye-fragging the sullen Praxian and his nervous traveling partner all the way to Praxus.

He could wipe that disgusted look off Sinoid's smug face. He imagined a smile on the Praxian's face, imagined him friendly and happy and eager to meet new people, imagined him asking what he was going to study in Iacon, the two of them pressed together in the corridor between cars, EM fields beating together and charge passing through their cables, imagined merging his thoughtshell with the smug piece of slag so he'd _know_ him- that'd teach him, that'd _show_ him. One day I'll offline, Blades thought as the thrashing of synths rung in his head, and my spark will split to pieces and return to my donors and one of them is high-caste and you'll ask him for a favor and he won't _give_ it to you 'cause you were _mean_ when all I was was _friendly_. Won't you be sorry _then_.

A groon and a half later, they pulled into Praxus and the Praxians got off, replaced by two citydwellers talking quietly to each other, and the seat next to Blades was filled by a light truck who had to keep his elbows tucked in to keep his shoulder pauldrons turned in and out of the way. Blades kept his eyes on his pad, not feeling up to trying to make conversation again. It was still another seven cycles, over half an orn, before they'd reach Iacon. Blades fell into recharge, and when he jerked back into awareness as the train's brakes squealed his anger had already died, as it had a thousand times before. He swallowed it easily, and smiled.

He was going to Iacon. He was going to be a medic. And everything was gonna be _great_.


	2. Chapter 2

Three metacycles later, Blades was just about through with his first semester and felt like he had a _pret_ ty good grasp of things. Most of his classmates were made-to-order medical assistants, learning the specialized tasks that couldn't be preprogrammed. Some were forged mechs looking to retrain, and mostly kept to themselves. There were a few cold-constructs like Blades who were retraining, and even a couple Rescue Bots from other bases. He and two other heavy machinery mechs, a cold-construct named Ripper and a forged mech named Tip, had their own study group, so they could could cram without any snide or pitying comments about equipment-class processors. It was just _so_ original, as if he didn't already know perfectly well what class of brain module he'd been built with. I got here, same as anyone, even with my third rate processor, thought Blades. So there.

He and Tip played a quick game of helm-pauldron-servos-and-pedes, murmuring the technical names as they crammed for their gross anatomy final.

"Are you feeling ready?" Blades asked.

"As I'll ever be," Tip mumbled.

"Hey, over the break, can I- I mean, are you gonna be around? I know a lot of forged mechs are gonna be going back to their city of origin, and I don't wanna be stuck by myself..."

"I'll be around," Tip said, then looked a little embarrassed. "I mean, it's only that, I'll be kinda busy for an orn and then I might... look a little... different."

"Wha?" Blades said, "You mean- oh. My. _Gosh!_ Tip! Your application got approved?"

"Yeah," Tip said, his field pulsing, pleased, "I'm finally getting a rescan! No more dump truck, I'm gonna be an ambulance."

"Tippy!" Blades laughed, wrapping his arms and field around his friend and briefly hefting the industrial vehicle up, pulsing his field against his friends. "That's so great! Are you gonna get your upgrades at the same time?"

"That's up to the waitlist, same as you," Tip said, shyly pulsing his field in harmony with Blades', "But the chiroplastician gave me a ping a few orns ago so I'm... hopeful. Have you gotten your rescan application in yet?"

"Don't need one, drill tanks are perfectly functional for the kind of work we do in Sector Sigma," Blades said, waving his hand dismissively, "Still, you know what they say about medic hands, right? Want me to help you break 'em in if you get 'em?"

Tip giggled. "Course! But... I mean, you aren't gonna do anything... weird, right?"

"Weird? Tip, come on! Of course not! All right, that's enough, come on, the mesosternic plate is connected to the...?"

That was the thing about hanging out with forged mechs, Blades thought, as he and Tip got back to cramming. They had _hang ups_. Sure, most mechs preferred harmonic field interaction, Blades knew that. He didn't so much himself. The attention it took to modulate his field in the correct ratio to his partner's took him out of the moment, and it just didn't feel right to him. And he knew not everyone liked beat signals- some mechs swore they made them feel like purging. But no one in the Rescue Corps had ever acted like being a 'beater' made him weird, or immature, or _dysfunctional_. But _whatever_ , Blades guessed. He only had to put up with this for a vorn, and then he'd be a _medic_ , and everything would be _fine_.

\---

The intersession break was great. A lot of the forged mechs did leave, but there were still plenty of cold-cons for Blades to hang out with. Not having any duty cycles for three straight decaorns was circuit blowing. He didn't know what to do with himself. He wound up spending most of his orns in the archives, buddying up with Apparatus, the junior archivist, so that he could get extra downloads and clearance to read restricted technical data and government reports.

"Mech, you're _shorting_ ," Scope said with a laugh when Blades explained what he'd been up to at a party. "You're the only guy I know who's _studying_ on his _break_!"

"Come on, all of our textbooks are based on studies of forged mechs! I want to find out about cold construction- don't you want to know where you come from?"

"I'm from Polyhex, that's good enough for me," Scope said.

"Nooo, I mean- how do you _build_ a processor from scratch? How _exactly_ is it different from a forged processor? How do you keep two donor sparks stable while you fragment them and then merge the fragments together into stable constructs and transplant them into frame? How do they decide what spark matches which frame? You know, that kind of stuff!"

"Creation is a mystery of Primus," Scope said, "There's some stuff it's just not safe to ask."

"We're _not forged_ Scope, the entire _point_ of made-to-order is there's paperwork, decisions- someone's gotta know this stuff," Blades declared.

All his research turned out to be worth it when class assignments for the next semester were announced.

"I can't believe we're taking Intro to Trinitarian Interventions with _the_ Pharma!" Blades exclaimed, hugging Ripper tight.

"Blades, come on, you know it's gonna be an graduate apprentice, not actually him," Ripper said, "And who is this Pharma mecha again?"

"I told you like last decaorn, it was his research that led to the stabilization of artificial sparks, and he did his apprenticeship under Pons when they were creating the first artificial processor!" Blades explained, "He's basically, like, the creator of cold construction!"

"That's cool," Ripper said, looking over the rest of his class assignments.

"And we're gonna be taught by the mech he's teaching!" Blades continued, unable to repress his excitement, "We're gonna be one degree away from _the_ Pharma!"

The first orn of the second semester rolled around quickly. As they made their way to the lecture hall that was hosting Intro to Trin, Blades grabbed Ripper's wrist and dragged him down to the center of the front row, glaring at a little MTO medic who tried to take his seat.

"Blades, _please_ calm down," Ripper begged, "Having a spark attack in the middle of lecture is super uncool."

"I'm perfectly calm! I just wanna have a good seat!" Blades said. He craned his neck at the door. "I looked it up, Pharma's assistant is Keia, and class is starting in two kliks, he oughta be coming-" the door opened, and Blades cut himself off with an excited squeal, his drill spinning in its casing.

"Be cool!" Ripper whispered, knocking his fist against the drill casing on Blades' back.

" _That's him!_ " Blades whispered back, vibrating in his seat. "That's him, that's-"

"Shut up! All of you! Be quiet!" Pharma shouted at the class as he took the lectern. He glared at them. "Now listen up! Keia, for reasons I cannot discuss with you, had to be expelled from the Academy. In his place, _I_ will be teaching Intro to Trin myself.

"You're all part of the Emergency Technician cohort. That's the shortest medic track offered here at the Academy, and this, believe me, is the most important course you'll take.

"Your patient is in crisis. His fuel line is leaking, his engine is misfiring, and his legs have been torn off. What do you do first? You evaluate Rossum's Trinity and act appropriately, _always_.

"Fuel lines can be replaced, engines can be rebuilt, and by graduation you'll all be able to reassemble a joint or snap on a prosthetic in under a breem. But if someone's processor shorts while you're fussing with soldering- that's a lifetime of data, destroyed in a nanoklik. A transformation cog burns out while you put out an engine fire, and half of your patient's very being is destroyed- and for the lower castes, that will likely render them completely dysfunctional. And I don't need to explain the consequences of a spark extinguishing to any of you." Pharma gazed out across the now silent class, his focus critical. Blades stared up at him, enraptured.

"The evaluation of Rossum's Trinity is the first step of triage. It determines who can and cannot be saved, what actions need to be taken first, and in what order the secondary systems should be stabilized. Any other system or part can be swapped out or replaced- but change any part of Rossum's Trinity, and you are _not_ who you were." He nodded to the minicon standing beside the lectern, who transformed and began projecting a pic of a neurotransistor. "Now who can tell me the three primary parts of a synapse?"

\---

Blades couldn't resist- he _had_ to talk to Pharma. But he didn't want to sound like a moron, or a gawker, or squealing fan- he poured over his lecture notes for the two orns between the first lecture of the decaorn and Pharma's scheduled office joor. He managed to come up with three intelligent questions one of which was even based on the reading for the upcoming lecture, and if his roommates rolled their optics at him rehearsing them in the mirror, they could blow it out their exhaust- he'd rather sound like a dummy in front of them than Pharma. And it _worked_. He made a _good_ impression- Pharma even smiled a little when he explained how they simulated the process of neurodifferentiation in sparklings to create artificial processors! He did the same thing the next decaorn- and the same thing the next, and the same thing the next. Slowly, Blades started to feel comfortable in Pharma's presence, and the bristling, omnipresent static of anger in Pharma's field started to disappear when he spoke with Blades.

"Blades, come on," Pharma said on the sixth decaorn. "You don't need this depth of knowledge to be an emergency tech, and you don't need me to review class material with you- you clearly have a better grasp of the concepts than ninety percent of the idiots they're making me teach this semester- and I don't just mean the tech track students, I'm including the surgical track and apprentices too! Why are you actually hanging around?"

"Well, I mean- you're _you_ ," Blades stammered. "That is, I mean, I know what you did. With the sparks."

Pharma stared at him, face suddenly frozen, his field cold and still. "How do you know," he asked, but his voice was a monotone.

"I didn't- I really don't think I did anything wrong! It's in the public archives!" Blades said. "I just mean, I know your research is what led to the creation of the merging procedure, that you're the one who figured out how to stabilize the created sparks. If it wasn't for your research, I wouldn't _exist_!"

Pharma had relaxed as Blades spoke. He folded his hands and gazed down at them. "How do you feel about that?" he asked.

"Uh, _amazing?_ " Blades said. "I mean, you _basically_ created me, and I get to _talk_ to you, and ask you _questions_. It would be like if you got to go down in the well and ask Primus how he forged you!"

"I'm like Primus, am I?" Pharma said, and he started laughing. "I am, aren't I? Didn't I create life, too?"

"You did!" Blades agreed, and Pharma burst into a fit of laughter. His optics were a little wild by the time it stopped.

"Blades, listen," he said, "You're a wonderful student, but there are a _few_ other mechs in your class I'll need to speak with before the end of semester."

"Oh," Blades said. "Oh, I, um, I understand. I won't-"

"So let's make a standing appointment," Pharma interrupted. "Twice a decaorn, at this same joor, but the orn after class?"

"Yes! Absolutely! Oh wow oh wow oh wow!" Blades exclaimed. Pharma smirked.

"Now shoo," he said, flapping his hand dismissively. "Office joor ended a breem ago, and I have work to do."

It was mostly because Blades' attention was flattering, Blades knew. Between the three classes Pharma taught, there were a dozen other students who were smarter than him, and more promising- the kinds of mechs who'd one day be Pharma's colleagues. But none of them _looked_ at Pharma the way Blades did, none of them opened up their field to him. Every time Blades had seen Pharma with one of his colleagues or the older surgical track students, they'd seemed guarded, and wary- like they didn't want anyone to think they were actually associated with Pharma. Blades didn't get it at all. Pharma was so smart, and he was funny, and Blades would listen to him talk for joors if he could, and once you got him to let down the wall of bristling anger he was so warm and eager to be heard- why was it no one seemed to trust him?

It was hard to see someone so amazing be so lonely, especially when it was for no good reason. Maybe he's one of my spark donors, Blades thought wistfully. Maybe that's why we get along so well. Maybe when I die, I'll become him.

Meeting with Pharma for their special appointment was even better than lurking around his office joor. Blades tried to come up with questions and comments based on the most recent lecture, but the conversation would spiral away from that quickly. He and Pharma seemed to talk about anything. From neuroscience to economics to religion to their earliest memories. Sometimes, Pharma would even tell him about his day.

It was on one of those occasions that Blades dared to be brave, less than a decaorn before their finals. Pharma was angrily discussing a slight some of the other professors had given him. Blades reached across the table and laid his hand on Pharma's hand, their fields intermingling.

"I understand," Blades said sympathetically, "I really, really do." He modulated his field to mirror Pharma's. The frequencies almost matched, coming together and falling away, sending beat signals rippling through their surface fields. A ping of surprised pleasure rushed through Pharma's field, quickly quashed- but not before he matched his field to Blades', keeping the beats going as the frequency of Blades' EM field fell out of synch with Pharma's. Blades grinned excitedly, his engine racing in his chassis. "Like calls to like, don't you think, sir?" He tightened his grip on Pharma's hand. Pharma started, and practically flung his hand away.

"No," he said, jittery. He looked at the door to his office, closed, and then over his pauldron to the window, eyes pinging around the perimeters of the room. "Not- not here," he mumbled. He quickly pinged Blades an address. "I'll meet you outside at the end of this cycle. Be _subtle_ getting there, and don't tell _anyone_."

"Yes sir," Blades said automatically, and then again, his field pulsing in joy as he realized what he meant, "Yes! Yes sir, I promise!"

"Shh," Pharma said, eyes flicking to the door. Blades jumped up from his chair, consciously overriding his drill's urge to whirl, and Pharma walked around the desk. Tentatively, he reached out, and took Blades hand, their fields humming at the connection. He leaned down to press his helm against Blades, and pulsed his field deep against his processor. Blades shuddered, and mirrored him, matching the frequency as best he could. The beat signals ran down to the very core of him, rippling out to every part of his body.

"Primus, _Pharma!_ " Blades said, pressing closer to his professor.

"Shh!" Pharma repeated, pulling his helm away, looking over Blades' helm to the door. "Go on," Pharma said, "Get out of here."

"Yes sir," Blades said, grinning, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part! This got longer than anticipated.
> 
> Also, here are the times I used if you are curious about that kind of thing:  
> Nanoklik=1/8 of a second (second)  
> Klik=512 nanokliks=64 seconds (minute)  
> Breem=8 kliks= 8 minutes 32 seconds ("ten minutes")  
> Joor=8 breems~1 hour 8 minutes (hour)  
> Groon=6 joors~7 hours ("big hour")  
> Cycle=4 groons~27 hours (work shift)  
> Orn=12 cycles~13 days (day)  
> Decaorn=10 orns~130 days (week)  
> Metacycle=3 decaorns~390 days (month)  
> Quartex=20 years 9 months  
> Vorn=83 years (year)


	3. Chapter 3

The coordinates Pharma had given him led Blades to a midrise tower about a hic and a half from the university. It was close enough that Blades didn't need to hop in a transit mech, but it was a pretty long way to walk since he didn't have a road license. Pharma probably didn't need to worry about the walk, Blades thought, eyeing the railingless decks on the upper floors of one side of the building. He was a jet, after all.

Blades checked his internal chronometer and leaned against the side of the building, whistling innocently.

"I told you to be inconspicuous," Pharma said, suddenly at Blades' side. Blades whirled around to face him, beaming.

"Hi!" Blades said, "I was! I was super sneaky leaving campus! You don't need to worry!" He wanted to throw his arms around Pharma, but knew he needed to be restrained, so he settled for pinging his field happily and brushing their hands together. Pharma's face was impassive but his field crackled with static and excess charge. 

"Just come on," Pharma murmured, walking back to the tower and pinging the door with his personal code to open it. Blades followed three steps behind, bouncing a little with each step to keep up with the larger mech's longer strides. The lobby was smaller than Blades expected, though still nice. Pharma waved distractedly at a minicon who was working security. "Just going over some things with my student," he said, calling the lift down.

"Yes sir," the minicon said, but Blades didn't miss the way he eyed Blades' utilitarian copper coloring. He prickled a little under the skeptical gaze, and couldn't get in the lift fast enough when the doors opened. He pressed his side close to Pharma's, smiling up at him.

"Wait," Pharma said.

They got out. Walked down the hall, waited till Pharma unlocked his door. Then three steps in, and Pharma had his hands under Blades' arms, hoisting him up and pinning him to the wall, pressing their helms together and pressing their fields together at every point he could, frequency pounding against Blades, his charge so high it crackled. Blades vocalizer staticked out in surprise, and he wrapped his arms around Pharma's neck and tried to secure his legs around Pharma's hips to help support his weight. He chased after Pharma's frequency with his own field, ratcheting it up higher and higher, straining to meet him until- that first glorious beat pulsed through him, the next quick on its heels, and the next, and Blades cried out, venting hard, burying his helm into Pharma's shoulder, his hands scrabbling against the jet's smooth backplating until- there- right where his wings met his back, a transformation seam, and he dug his fingertips in, rubbing and pulsing, and Pharma groaned as well.

Suddenly, Pharma pulled back, lowering his arms a little so that Blades had to flail his legs around to get them back under him before they hit the ground.

"Berth," Pharma bit out, vents whirring. "Come on then." Hand in hand, Pharma half-dragged Blades to the room in the back of his apartment in his haste, giving the smaller mech a boost onto the berth and crawling up after him and easily straddling Blades' thin leg struts. He ran his hands over the smooth curve of Blades' torso, in a slow, exploratory gesture, rather than the frantic stimulation they'd traded at the doorway. Blades reached out, wanting to return the touch, but shuddered in surprise as Pharma's fingertips suddenly curled inward, triggering his central dataport cover to retract. "There's one," Pharma said with a smirk, "Now where's your secondary port?"

"L-lateral, on the left," Blades said, vocalizer hitching. Pharma's hand trailed down the side of his chassis, manually triggering the secondary cover. "Pharma, Pharmapharmapharma, what are you- how far are we-"

"I want to hardline with you," Pharma said. His optics refocused on Blades. "You have done that before, right?"

"Um, _duh_!" Blades exvented. "I'm t- _trying_ to ask how deep you wanna merge!"

Pharma looked down at him, face impassive but field anxious. "I was thinking three shells deep," he said, "If you don't mind."

Blades' hands shot out, trying to reach Pharma's chassis, fingertips trailing over his finish. "Yes!" Blades said, "I mean, no, no problems, only Pharma, please-"

Pharma retracted his data covers and leaned over Blades, extending his secondary cable and plugging it into the port on Blades' side. "Shh," Pharma hushed, pulling out Blades' cable and plugging it into himself, "You're babbling." Blades pulsed his field against Pharma, and Pharma reciprocated easily, matching the low hum of his field gamely, the faint pulse of beats signals passing through them pleasantly. Blades let out a whine as Pharma plugged into his primary port, hyperaware of his cable unspooling and the tight click as it fastened into Pharma. Pharma took Blades' hands in his, pinning them above the smaller mech's head, their fingers interlaced. Their surface fields hummed at the contact as he began the hardline handshake.

A faint awareness in the back of Blades' processor grew, an intuition of another's systems and codes. He focused on that intuition, trying to see through it, remembering his first giddy explorations with Shank, and suddenly he remembered his first time with another med student, a sturdy looking red and white grounder with a sharp tongue and kind hands, who'd responded to his tentative beat pulse with nothing more than a surprised huff and an easy reciprocation. Second shell already, some part of Blades' thought eagerly, as the borrowed memory of tangling with the medical student in a narrow dorm berth flowed easily into pressing up against Shank in their narrow bunks, into cuddling with Drover in the storage closet, into banging his wings against the walls of the stall in a public washrack as he frantically pressed against the first friendly field he'd felt in metacycles.

Blades extended his field in sympathy, or maybe Pharma did, they were too mixed up in each other and the rhythm too close to tell who was setting and who was reciprocating anymore, and then suddenly the beat pulsed through him twice as strong, and he was looking up into his own eyes and down into his own eyes and up and down and he writhed against himself, hands wrenching free to scrabble against his frame, massaging every sensor he could find as his intake pressed against his finials, glossa stimulating the sensitive instruments. There was no Blades or Pharma anymore, their streams of consciousness converging into an intoxicating swirl, every sensation doubled and mirrored and escalating, and someone cried out as their fields peaked and arced wildly, their optics whiting out as the interface forced their processor into a reboot.

Blades came back to himself just as Pharma finished disconnecting their cables. So that was that, Blades thought pensively. It wasn't quite what he expected- and he could barely suppress the crushing disappoint from racing through his still unguarded field as he realized why.

"What's with you?" Pharma asked. He rolled into his side, looking down on Blades. Blades tried to smile, tried to smooth out the unhappy fluxes in his field. "Wasn't it good for you?" Pharma asked.

"No, no!" Blades said. "It was fine!"

"Oh," Pharma said. "Fine. Alright."

"Noooo, it was great! It was awesome! Processor-blowing, spark-racing, all that good stuff!" Blades exclaimed, waving his hands in protest. A wave of disappointment rose up in him and he exvented heavily, leaning his helm to Pharma's chest plate. "It's only that... I've done this before, you know?" He looked up at Pharma, who looked down at him still-faced, uncomprehending. "With my coworker- my batchmate- Shank. He's the only mech I've done that really deep merging with. And it was really good with him too, but I thought- I mean, I know you're fourth caste, but you're the _peak_ of the fourthers, and you're a _genius_ , you've got a top of the line processor shaped by Primus himself and I just thought- thought that if, you know, it felt good with a scrap-tier mass produced processor like Shank and I have, merging with a forged mech like you would be, like, _kchoo!!_ " He rattled his hands emphatically. "Y'know? And it was... it was _good_ , but it wasn't any different than with Shank, really, a-and I realized it's cause _I'm_ the same. My stupid, glitchy, third-rate processor is too _slow_ to even tell the difference, and it must've been _awful_ for you, and I'm sorry, and I-" his vocalizer hitched and he cut himself off. Pharma was frowning. Hesitantly, he reached out and ran a hand down the side of Blades' helm.

"...Blades. No. I... Have you ever heard of Pons' Ark Paradox?"

Blades shook his head.

"It's an important thought experiment in neuroscience. Imagine an Ark-class ship is docked. If I took one panel off and replaced it, it's still the Ark, yes?" Pharma asked rhetorically, scooching up to sit properly, back resting against the berth's headboard. "But imagine I took off another, panel, and another, and then I replaced the engines, and I took all of the pieces I was replacing and assembled them in the adjourning dock, until I had replaced every part on the Ark and reassembled them, and now there are two identical ships, side by side. Which is the Ark?"

"...I dunno," Blades admitted. "Tell me! What's the answer?"

"That's the _point_ ," Pharma said. "That's the analogy Pons used when we were figuring out how to construct an artificial processor. First you replace a synapse, then a circuit, then a lobe, and then-!" He gestured emphatically. "Do you see? Manufactured processors are functionally identical to forged ones. There's no such thing as processor classes- it's just, just, propaganda. Just a thing people say. There's less variation in manufactured processors than forged, of course, but that means most cold-constructed mechs are actually less prone to dysfunction than forged mechs."

"But. I thought- don't they tailor processors for function?" Blades asked. Pharma snorted dismissively.

"Every few decavorns some general or chief-of-police will get a bug in their system about using hardware modifications to create perfect soldiers or incorruptible officers," he said derisively, "And the results are always more temperamental and glitchy than they're worth. You're not glitch-ridden, so I don't anticipate your neurostructures being significantly different from the mean."

"But what about the miners?" Blades asked. "What about the Vehicons?"

"Are they glitching? No? Then there's no significant structural differences. They likely have some restrictive software installed-"

"But they die, Pharma," Blades said. "I- I've worked hundreds and hundreds of mining accidents. They live all their lives in the dark, under the ground, digging and digging, and then they _die, horribly_ , and they can think and feel just like we do?"

"Yes, I- I mean, I don't, I- I don't know their, their exact specifications, so-" Pharma stammered. Blades scooched up as well, leaning against Pharma, looking up into his optics.

"But our t-cogs are different, right? Simpler, more cost-efficient."

" _Better_ ," Pharma swore, anxiety disappearing with a palpable wave of passion through his field. "Primus, Blades, you wouldn't _believe_ the fight I got into with the Council on this issue. The way the cold-cons are being utilized right now is _criminally_ wasteful. Artificial t-cogs have been around for centuries, of course, plenty of forged mechs who've had catastrophic accidents have had theirs replaced. But made-to-order mechs have altmodes and t-cog sequences designed to be as efficient as possible, with minimal kibble. You all have twice as much formal memory as average- pretty much every cold-con on the planet could become a triple-changer overnight if the Council would allow it. Pit, with proper energy provisions and a little mental discipline, a plurality could become quadruple changers."

"You mean, like, changing within our form clade?"

"I mean anything," Pharma said, his optics flashing, fury seeping through his field. "You could be _anything_ if it wasn't for this 'one form for one function' scrap-"

"Could I be a flightframe?" Blades asked impulsively. Pharma turned his gaze back to him, shuttering his optics in surprise.

"I- suppose. Is that something you want? If you wanted a jet form, you'd need to go in for an engine upgrade, and it wouldn't hurt to bulk up your protoform mass to better support wings-"

"I don't," Blades interrupted "Not really. I'm pure grounder, y'know, terrified of heights. It was just... the craziest thing I could think of."

Pharma was silent a long moment, wrapping his arm around Blades.

"You could probably be a rotor in a sparkpulse, if you wanted," Pharma offered. "You've got the right motor for it. No upgrades required."

Blades laughed weakly, scarcely able to process what Pharma was telling him.

"That's the only real difference, isn't it?" Blades said. His processor was directly above Pharma's sparkchamber, and he pinged it, relishing the reassuring hum of resonance he felt in return. "I've seen so many mechs extinguish. Only a couple forged mechs, but the cold-cons- so many have crush injuries, their chambers cracked open, and you can see the spark ark and split apart as it destabilizes, y'know?" Blades could help the dreamy reverence his tone took at the memory. "It's super dangerous, cause the mines are full of volatile substances, but it's beautiful to see the different components fly apart and- I've always heard we go back to our donor sparks, like how forged mechs return to the well, but you would know wouldn't you?"

Pharma was cold and still. Blades leaned deeper against him, rubbing his faceplate against Pharma's chest, but even his surface field was staticky, dead.

"It must've come up when you were experimenting with stabilizing constructed sparks, right?" Blades said. "Do the donors remember anything of the construct's life? Will they know who I was? Will I remember?"

Pharma said nothing. His arm hung listlessly behind Blades. His joints were stiff, his ventilations shallow.

"Do we go straight to the well?" Blades asked. "Do we... do we dissipate?"

"I don't know," Pharma said, his vocalizer flat and forced.

"But you have to know," Blades said, "You created us! You created me." He twisted around, straddling Pharma's lap so he could see his face clearly. "It's like you said in class- it's too dangerous to use our own sparks to stabilize a failing spark, because resonance is so hard to achieve. So the number of mechs who are compatible donors for constructed sparks has to be pretty low, right? Do you know who they are? Do you know who I am?"

"NO!" Pharma screamed. He tried to shove Blades off of him, and the smaller mech threw his arms around Pharma's neck, clinging onto him as the jet tried to force him away. "I don't know! I don't know-"

"You _have_ to!" Blades insisted, "You _have_ to, you _created_ -"

"I FAILED!" Pharma screamed, field wild and jagged and broken. Blades grip slackened, shocked, and Pharma shoved him sideways, onto the berth beside him. He looked down at him, coolant leaking from his optics, flashing wildly. "I failed! I tried, and I tried, for _vorns_ I tried to merge sparks- but nothing worked! Stable resonance was impossible to maintain no matter what I tried! My constructs died, my donors died- _dozens_ of them," he laughed hoarsely, hysterically. "All sparks will separate and fly apart, Blades- cold-constructed, forged, they all break apart if you crack them open. I couldn't create new life- but I could, I could _trap_ it. The quantum containers I built could chill their contents to one billionth of a degree above absolute zero- so I, I p-paid off a priest and I put a spark chamber in the container and I lowered into the well and I _trapped_ the energy and I cooled it till it slowed and stuck and _froze_ and then I put the spark chamber in a frame and waited a couple of joors and then-" he tapped just above Blades' spark chamber, and wriggled his fingers. " _Egeneto fos_ ," he whispered in Primal Vernacular.

"What?" Blades said. "I'm- my spark is from the well?"

"I gave the procedure over to the Council, gave the plans for the quantum containers," Pharma continued, bitter. "They considered that an 'acceptable fulfillment' of my research contract."

"But you mean, you mean my spark was made by Primus? Just like you?" Blades asked. Pharma's field flared, furious and disgusted.

" _Sure_ ," he said, "They made you just like me. You should've been a _god_. You all should've been our chance to seize control of our evolution, to advance our entire species. We could've made you _perfect_. And instead, those _slaggers_ made you all disposable, superstitious, _slaves_."

"But my processor isn't any different than a forged mechs. And my t-cog isn't any different. And if my- if my spark isn't any different, then there's no difference, there's no reason I should've been treated, that I should've been-" Blades froze, a tremor passing through his body. He couldn't understand what he had been told- he refused to let himself process it. "My spark is from the well- all cold-cons come from the well, from Primus."

"That's why the hot spots have been barren for so long," Pharma said. "They haven't forged more than a dozen mechs in a century because the priests are pulling the sparks out of the well as quickly as the energy coalesces. Because the Council are _hypocrites_. They're _heretics_."

"Lie down next to me," Blades asked, feeling himself beginning to lose control of his emotions, his field flaring out of his control. "Pharma, lie down next to me."

"Blades-" Pharma began and Blades interrupted him.

"-you _created_ me," Blades said, "You _owe_ me, now lie down next to me and _comfort me_."

"I didn't create you," Pharma said, "That's what I'm trying to say-"

" _You_ were the one who went to the well, _you_ were the one who gave that knowledge to the Council," Blades hissed, his rage lashing out, "No one made you do that, you just couldn't stand to fail, and now there are _millions_ of us. There are millions of cold-cons enslaved because of _you_ , and there's nothing either of us can do about it, so lie down next to me and _hold me_."

Hesitantly, Pharma slid down the berth, looking down at Blades. Blades lifted up his arm and curled up against Pharma's side. He shuttered his optics. They lay together in silence for several long kliks, their ventilations slowing and synching, their fields, pulled in tight, slowly relaxing into a common misery.

"I'm initiating a hard override to put myself into recharge," Blades announced. "Good bye."

He barely had time to hear Pharma's mumbled response before his awareness retreated.

\---

Blades onlined just before the next cycle began. Pharma's arm was no longer wrapped around him. He was no longer pressed against Pharma's side. He had rolled onto his back, and Pharma had transformed into his altmode. Blades was resting under his wing. He wondered if Pharma was the kind of mech who had t-cog spasms in recharge, or if he just preferred to rest in his altmode. He reached up, tracing the seam of the aileron and feeling the sleepy field quake beneath his touch, and leaned up, pressing his forehelm to the wing and pulsing once, fondly. He rolled out from beneath the wing and off of the berth, walking out of the room, stretching and popping his joints as he went.

He looked around the front room that he had barely had time to spare a glance to the cycle before. There weren't many decorations, though there was plenty of clutter, but it seemed nice. A few padded benches and low tables near a vid monitor, a small table and chairs, a countertop- and an energon dispenser.

Blades walked over and looked at it, poking it on. It wasn't sentient, thank Primus, just a good quality automaton, with two different portions and three strengths and _additive_. There wasn't a slot for ration chits, but personal models probably had a limiter built in. Recharge had topped off his battery, but left his fuel tank light- Blades experienced a pang of guilt that he quickly dismissed as he generated a small cube field and filled it with mid-grade, adding two additives he'd never tried before just because he could.

He heard footsteps, and looked over his shoulder. Pharma was standing in the doorway of the berthroom.

"Hello!" Blades said. "Do you mind? I'm always thirsty when I online."

"No, help yourself," Pharma said. He hesitated, then stepped into living area proper. He leaned against the counter next to Blades, arms crossed. "Are you..." he began, and looked at Blades awkwardly, "That is, do you remember?"

"What, us facing or you having a meltdown and telling me the secret of cold construction? 'Cause the answer is both, dummy. I processed, not memory-dumped," Blades said, and sipped his energon. The additives had given it a fizzy acid taste, which was nice, though the bitter backwash was less so.

"So what are you going to do then?" Pharma asked nervously.

"Mm? I'm gonna go to the library and study- I've still got an exam an orn from now," Blades said. "I think you need to leave, though." Pharma frowned. 

"This is my apartment," he said. Blades exvented and rolled his optics.

"Not the apartment- okay, yes, the apartment, but I meant you need to leave the _planet_!" Blades explained. Pharma shuttered his optics and refocused them.

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Go sit down already!" Blades said imperiously, "And can I make you energon? I wanna play with your machine more, but I don't wanna be wasteful." Pharma looked annoyed, but waved his hand in a permissive gesture as he walked over and sat down on one of the benches.

Blades generated a large cube and filled it with low grade, humming happily as the machine dispensed little beryllium flakes that fizzed satisfyingly as they dissolved in the fuel solution. He walked over and passed it to Pharma. "Sweet is supposed to be good for shock," he explained as Pharma crinkled his external chemoreceptor at the taste. "Look, I guess maybe you've been in this for so long you don't get what's happening, but I let my memory flux last night, and I've processed what you told me and I get it now, y'know? I get why everyone treats you so weirdly."

"Everything's the same as it's always been," Pharma said. Blades gave him a look.

" _Always_?" he asked. "Pharma, when you figured out how to, like, condense spark energy, you were _the_ up-and-coming medic of your class. You were connected, people _knew_ you. You discovered this amazing new technique, and the Council wanted to exploit it, but they couldn't let anyone know what they were doing 'cause it undermined basically the entire basis of power in our society. And they knew you knew the truth and could cause havoc, but they couldn't do anything to you, cause you were, well, _you_. But now you haven't been principal investigator on a research contract in over a decavorn, and your grants keep getting cut, and your teaching an intro class for a bunch of MTO's and _sixies_." Blades looked him in the optics. "You get it, right? I mean, you're a genius. You _get_ that the Council's been working to isolate you, and that they _know_ you're one friendly face away from spilling your banks on their biggest secret, and your co-workers know you're career poison and are gonna look the other way on anything that happens, right?"

"But-" Pharma started, and cut himself off. He took a long drink of his fuel. "That's not-"

"What happened to your assistant, Keia?" Blades asked. "Did you tell him, or did he figure it out? Did he leave, or did he disappear?"

Pharma looked like he was going to purge, and Blades knew he got it.

"This isn't Primus's plan for your spark," Blades said. "You're _so_ smart- he made you to discover stuff, to create cool new things. Not teach dummies like me, or whatever the Council does to mechs they consider threats."

"What good will leaving do?" Pharma said, "I'd be even more isolated off-world. All I can do is work through this, prove I'm loyal-"

"You're _not_ loyal," Blades said exasperatedly. "Look, mechs on the colonies won't care- they just want surgeons, and they'll bend over backwards for a prominent research surgeon to make their institution look legit. Cybertron is a pit- it's _the_ Pit- it's a big, unstable mining pit, full of stuff we can't see, and it's only gonna take one spark for the whole thing to go _kablooey_ ," Blades gestured emphatically, "So get outta here while you can- there's nothing either of us can do to stop it."

They were silent a long klik. Pharma finished his energon and dissipated the cube, while Blades crossed and uncrossed his thin legs, wishing he had some more fuel himself.

"What about you?" Pharma asked.

"Mm?" Blades said, "In the Rescue Corps, we've got this motto- 'Help when needed.' In Evacuation and Excavation, we add 'Save who you can.'" Blades was pensive for a long minute. "I guess Primus had a plan for my spark, y'know, and I think this is it. He wants you to help through your research, and I can help as an emergency technician. I can't free the Vehicons and everyone else, but I can keep them alive."

"So you really want me to leave you," Pharma said. Blades shrugged and smiled a little.

"It's like triage, y'know," Blades said. "When the mine is collapsing and you know you've got nanokliks left, you save who you can, and, sometimes, it's _okay_ if that's yourself."

\---

Blades left around midcycle. He went to the library like he said he would, and partitioned his emotional responses so he could focus on his class material. He passed the exam the next orn.

He thought about contacting Pharma, but office joors were over for the semester and it seemed by some unspoken mutual feeling they knew it was safer not to see each other anymore.

The intersession break went by in a flash. Tip burst into his dorm room with a big grin on his faceplates.

"I know something you don't know!" he teased.

"Well that's a change," Blades said, and ducked the playful swipe Tip aimed at his helm as he sat on the berth next to him.

"Y'know that professor you were all goopy towards?" Tip asked. Blades carefully controlled his field and rolled his optics as his spark raced.

"I was not ' _goopy_ '," Blades said. Tip waved his hand dismissively.

"He's not coming back next session, so you're gonna have to find someone new to melt over."

"Did he- I mean, do you know why not?" Blades asked. Tip smirked.

"He sold his spark to the colonies!" Tip said, and Blades couldn't keep from visibly relaxing. "He's gonna be, like head of neurosurgery at the Grand Colonial Hospital out on Delphi, I think. What, you two were _friend_ a whole semester and he didn't even bother to tell you?" Tip's teasing tone dropped away, and he seemed genuinely offended on Blades half. Blades nudged him companionably and smiled.

"He didn't have to," Blades said. "It's fine. I'm happy for him."

"You're not gonna leave me are you?" Tip asked. "You're not gonna ditch your study-buddy to go play off-world?"

"No way!" Blades teased back, "At least, not till I graduate!" They laughed, and compared their schedules for next semester. Blades felt himself calm down as he sank back into routine.

He was going to be a medic. And everything was going to be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Thank you so much for reading, kudoing, and especially commenting on this weird little fic! I hope you enjoyed! The "Primal Vernacular" is actually Greek for "There was light." Also, before I forget, the title of this work comes from the opening line of 'Child of God' by Cormac McCarthy, a book otherwise unrelated to this work but I thought the line was nicely evocative of the overall themes I wanted to convey.


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